


What use is sunshine when I'm crying?

by Terfle



Category: Les Trois Mousquetaires | The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas
Genre: F/F, Murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-22 09:02:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12478064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Terfle/pseuds/Terfle
Summary: Constance contemplates her future in the convent. But Milady has other plans





	1. Chapter 1

The girl in the chair didn’t move, no matter how hard the rain fell outside or how cold the room was. She curled up miserably, the remains of the lily clasped in her hand. She counted the raindrops that trickled down the window pane and upon reaching forty, turned her eyes away with a sigh. She couldn’t tell why she was so anxious today but the feeling that d’Artagnan wouldn’t get to her fast enough intensified. She had been here two months and had awaited her time slightly impatiently but with her characteristic cheer. Recently she’d been feeling a little desolate and as the rain poured down, the grey gloom engulfed her and she buried her head in a cushion. The white lily he had sent her was wilting and the scent was fading. She brought it to her and tried to inhale the last of it before it was all gone and she would have nothing left to remind her of him. She hummed a snatch of song she remembered singing the day had met him. Barely noticing the door opening, only the quiet footsteps alerted her to another’s presence.

She sat up and looked at her visitor. A tall woman wearing the dark habit of the order. Constance relaxed slightly, someone she felt she could trust. She greeted the sister politely and turned her head back to the window.

‘Good afternoon’ replied the nun back. She had a low lilting voice, pleasant to the ear. Following Constance’s gaze, she raised an eyebrow and asked if she was waiting for something.

‘Just my love’ sighed Constance as she laid her aching head on the arm of the chair. The nun chuckled mystifyingly, a strange sound in this place of piety and solitude. Constance frowned as she thought this over. She looked at her visitor more carefully. This wasn’t a sister she’d remember seeing before, noting that the nun didn’t wear the wimple like the others but instead a white scarf wrapped loosely around her head. Constance could see a lock of fox red hair that had escaped its confinement of the scarf. The nun had a serene face with piercing blue eyes that observed Constance right through to her yearning heart.

‘Love is a terrible thing to wait for’ said she, shaking her head.

‘He will come for me.’

The nun looked at her appraisingly. She saw a pretty girl, with amber eyes fringed with long lashes. ‘I wouldn’t wait around for him.’

‘Have you ever waited around for love?’ Questioned Constance. The nun looked surprised for a second and then smiled again. ‘Not for years I waited for love.’

‘You’ve never had a great love?’

‘Once.’ The nun looked out of the window for a second, considering a thought, perhaps of her former lover. ‘But he has been gone to me for many years now and I’ll never get him back.’ Her eyes returned to the girl. ‘How long have you been in this place?’

‘Around two months’ replied the girl. ‘And you?’ she dared to venture. The sister hesitated a few seconds before telling her, as if she had lost track of time.

‘A few months also’ was the answer. ‘What was the song you were humming just now?’ she enquired.

‘Just something I remember from a while ago.’ Constance invited the lady to sit by her and she perched on the arm of the chair. As she sat, Constance felt something cold and hard by her elbow. Withdrawing it with an exclamation, she looked up into her captors face. The nun realised which hidden object amongst her person was the cause for shock. Debating for a second about whether she should show her hand, she decided it wouldn’t do much harm. After all, the girl wasn’t to know much of afterwards. Swivelling her legs around the arm of the chair, she discreetly brushed her skirts aside and slipped the flask from her garter. Turning around and meeting Constance with a slight smile, she hoped that it would be a slight forgiven. She had after all, never actually told the girl if she was a nun or not. It had just been assumed. She offered her prisoner the first taste. Taken aback, Constance shook her head.

‘No thank you.’

She was sure it was wine in that flask but it was prohibited in the convent. How could she have stolen that past the other sisters?


	2. Chapter 2

‘I suppose it isn’t the usual thing to offer here. But once in a while you need a nip of something’ the nun said softly. She took a ladylike sip and hid it close to her, observing Constance from the corner of her eye. Constance didn’t know what to think. Nothing seemed to make sense anymore. She looked back at the window, feeling the gloom settle over her once more.

Unknown to her, the lady was acting very strange. She started inspecting her flask and then looking around the room in apparent interest. But her notice was always on the girl beside her. She took another few sips and Constance looked up to watch her in the window’s reflection. She was puzzled. She buried her face in the cushion once again. A minute later she felt a gentle tap on her shoulder and she turned to hear the lady concernedly ask if she was alright. Constance nodded and lowered her eyes to look at the flask again. It was a neat rectangle made of a shining metal. The lady’s slender white fingers were clasped lightly around it. On one hand lay a ring she’d never seen the likes of before, a solid silver band much like a wedding ring but with a curious stone set in the middle, an oval purple stone. She’d never seen a stone that colour before. Her eyes were drawn to the pretty colour, not knowing that she was staring at her downfall. The lady noticed and displayed it for her convenience.

‘Where did you get it from?’

‘It was a gift’ replied the lady.

‘It’s so pretty’ marvelled the girl.

The lady smiled nonchalantly in response. ‘Would you like to try it?’

‘Oh! Yes please.’

The lady slipped it off and gave it to Constance to try on. It fitted perfectly. The girl was thrilled to see such a pretty ring on her fair hand. She admired it in the fading light. The lady smiled and offered her the flask again. Constance hesitated.

‘It’s just a little Malmsey wine’ assured the lady.

Constance wasn’t sure that she should. ‘I’d feel a bit guilty having some of it here.’

‘You’ll get over that soon enough’ the lady assured her. Her arm circled Constance and the hand in front of her was holding the flask.

‘Just a sip won’t hurt’ she whispered into her ear. ‘There’s nothing to be afraid of.’ Constance shivered at the voice guiding her further down temptation. But nothing could happen with one sip, surely? She took the proffered flask and raised it to her lips, her hands trembling slightly, though she couldn’t understand why. The lady gently closed her fingers over hers and waited for Constance to drink. The girl took a deep breath and drank a deep draught, the wine warming her through. It had a curious bitter aftertaste but she paid it no heed. Soon enough she was feeling the desired effect of being sleepy, closing her eyes as the numbness took its time to steal to her feet. The sound of the rain seemed like it was slowly fading. She opened her eyes to see the lady jump to her feet and look out of the window.

‘Is d’Artagnan there?’ she asked, not realising how quiet her voice sounded.

‘He’s not coming’ replied her companion. Constance barely heard, still waiting for a sign of him, but nothing.

Oh! If only she’d watched at the window, not for what was outside but what was happening right beside her. The second she had looked away, the lady had opened that beautiful stone in her ring and emptied out the contents into her flask, an indistinct white powder. How was Constance to know what danger that sip would do?


	3. Chapter 3

‘He’s not coming’ repeated Milady quietly, for it was Milady that had administered the fatal dose of poison to the unsuspecting girl. She pushed the scarf back from her face, down her shoulders and the light from the window reflected her anguished eyes.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Don’t bother waiting for him; he doesn’t love you, no matter what he says.’

‘But d’Artagnan loves me. He wouldn’t lie.’ Constance was too muzzy to protest but her mind was telling her that something was wrong. Milady came to sit by her. She laid a hand on Constance’s head, stroking her hair. She spoke to her softly, as a mother would do with a child.

‘All men lie. They tell you they love you but they don’t mean it. They betray you for another as soon as they’ve got what they wanted. You can’t trust any of them.’

‘But...’

‘You’re better off without him.’

Constance tried to understand but her mind was slipping away into blackness. She made one last attempt to rouse herself but she couldn’t move. The lily slipped from the folds of her dress and fell to the floor unnoticed.

‘I...know he loves me.’

Milady hadn’t been lying. The poison wouldn’t hurt; just steal all feeling in her body, eventually stilling her breath. With her last few conscious moments, she hadn’t realised that she was nestled against her gaoler, for despite the poison coursing through her body, her transition was restful. Milady continued stroking her hair and her soothing voice was the last thing Constance was to hear.

‘You’re a pretty girl but you’re a fool if you rely on a man to rescue you’ whispered Milady. ‘Just remember that.’ Constance heard it but couldn’t absorb it and a few seconds later, closed her eyes for the last time.

Milady rested her head against the girl’s for a minute. She had showed her hand, fuelled by both a desperate move to stay ahead of the game and her melancholy state of mind. She closed her eyes and took deep breaths in place of the body that could no longer do so. The poison was her last opportunity to do away with herself efficiently and painlessly and she had lost the chance. But Constance had to be disposed of and this was the only way out. She opened her eyes to see the white lily on the floor by the girl’s feet. It had faded as Constance had taken her last breath. Milady knew she didn’t have much time left; she would have to leave soon if she were to move on ahead of d’Artagnan. But she couldn’t help feeling pity for the girl who had fallen for his charms. She knew all too well how it felt to be cast aside for another. She glanced down at her victim, looking like a little girl sleeping.

She left the ring on the dead girl’s finger. It was no use to her now. Milady left before a sense of what could be called guilt, could niggle at her. She had done her job.


End file.
